


Feel Good, Inc.

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [10]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's angry, and Lancelot is caught in his wake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Good, Inc.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Live By The Sword 'verse, posted in the order they were written. I am writing this series out of order as each bit comes. This is set closely to The Devil I Know.
> 
> Lyrics and title courtesy of The Gorillaz, from their album Demon Days.

God, but Arthur hated the club.

Strobes everywhere, sweaty bodies, stairs he swore were designed to trip only him. Him in his proper suit and tie, his only concession to comfort his boots that were hidden by his trouser legs. His bike he had left on the street, engine ticking still, the more economical car at home. He was in too bad a mood to drive the car. He wanted the wind on him, the sounds of the city coming easily even through his helmet. Pops of gunfire, helicopter blades, sirens, people laughing, traffic, the usual.

 

His ‘vacation,’ forced upon him under great duress, wasn’t turning out the way he wanted. What he wanted was calm, and order. What he got was crazed teens and floatingly high adults and the damn club. And Lancelot in leather. Again.

 

_Don’t stop, get it, get it, we are your captains in it, (feel good) steady, watch me navigate, hahahahhahaaa…_

 

That song. The bass shook him to his core; he could feel it in his fillings and his chest, which vibrated with each step down the stairs. He hated that song. At the moment, he hated everything, including the wildly gyrating man in front of him, whom he tapped on the shoulder.

 

“Two times in as many months? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lancelot grinned at Arthur and kept dancing. Arthur was sorry once again he’d bought the pants for the other man – he looked way too good in them. Apparently half the women and not a few of the men agreed, for he was getting several salicious looks as he twisted his way around the wooden floor to the beat of the old tune.

 

Arthur watched, and his mood darkened. He bit his lip, rolled eyes at himself, then grabbed Lance by the arm. “Come with me.” Lancelot shrugged and danced his way behind Arthur, waving at a few people as he moved off the floor.

 

_Sh-shake it, sh- shake it, sh-shake it, sh-shake it, feel good_

 

They made their way up the stairs, more people acknowledging the younger man (son of a deceased mobster, after all), and burst out of the front door, Arthur practically dragging Lance behind him.

 

“Let go, Castus, we’re outside now,” Lance laughed, then frowned as Arthur kept a hold on his elbow. “Ow, you fuck, let go!”

 

Arthur marched around the corner and down two blocks, still holding onto the other man, his boots rapping on the cement, the steel toes making him feel like he was walking with bricks on his feet. He felt his anger surging, growing, shaking him to the marrow, and for once, he didn’t care – he just let it take him.

 

They reached his bike, and finally he let go, spinning Lancelot around to face him.

 

“Arthur, what the fuck?”

 

Arthur said nothing, but pushed Lance against the brick wall next to his bike, and clamping his hands on the other man’s shoulders, sealed his lips over Lancelot’s, who’s eyes popped wide. He made a confused and pissed off noise, but when Arthur’s head slanted and his tongue shoved into Lance’s mouth, his eyes shut and he moaned, his leg raising slightly to wrap around Arthur’s calf.

 

Arthur let the fury and tension he’d been feeling all night roar up, filling his body, pushing his suddenly feeble rational brain down into the corner. He pressed up against Lancelot, his hips grinding into the other man’s, and he sucked Lance’s tongue into his own mouth, his body not under his control any more.

 

Lancelot managed to get a hand between the two of them, and shoved weakly at Arthur’s chest, finally succeeding in separating them. He drew in rough breaths, his hand going to his lips, the corner of which was bleeding slightly.

 

Arthur’s mouth was compressed into a white line; his hands were shaking, so he ran them through his hair in order to hide it.

 

“What. The fuck, Castus,” Lancelot gasped out after a moment. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? How dare you drag me out of there in front of a hundred people then maul me on the street? You motherfucker! You shit! Don’t you fucking dare! I can’t-“

 

“Shut up, Lancelot,” Arthur growled, his rage again making itself known, it’s red eyes glowing through his green ones, it’s breath hot and salivating at the thought of mauling the other man some more. “For once, just do as I say.”

 

He stalked to the wall, but instead of kissing Lance’s lips, he attached himself to the neck of the younger man, mouth sucking, teeth biting. No soothing with tongue or gentle motions. Arthur was the monster – and he wasn’t about to let go of the prey. It tasted too good.

 

“Jesus,” Lancelot breathed, his legs threatening to collapse, his leather pants scraping against the brick. "Fuck, why did you never do this before?”

 

“Shut. Up.”

 

Arthur’s hand dropped to Lance’s crotch, and squeezed. Hard. That shut him up, quickly. The only sound was a moan/whimper that vaguely sounded like Arthur’s name.

 

A few minutes later, Arthur’s nose and throat swam with the taste and scent of the other man, and he was certain he might be taking Lancelot up against the wall if they didn’t get somewhere. Even in his current state, Arthur Castus did not fuck anyone outside.

 

Well…he dismissed that thought, and pulled back finally, eyes still blazing. He tugged on Lance’s sleeve; the other man gazed at him blurrily through eyes half lidded. “Wha?” he mumbled, and followed Arthur to the bike, sliding on behind the older man, his arms going around Arthur’s torso, plastering himself to Arthur’s back. His hands roamed; they teased the suddenly sensitive skin of Arthur’s chest and drew nails down his belly to rest at his very uncomfortably hard groin.

 

“Take me home,” Lancelot whispered in Arthur’s ear, “take me home and fuck me.”

 

Arthur had had the intention of doing just that, so he didn’t answer; he turned the key in the ignition and roared off toward the freeway, Lance clinging to him tightly, his arms a vise that bound Arthur's chest.

 

*

 

_So don’t stop, get it get it_  
Love forever, love is free,  
let’s turn forever you and me 

 

The door cracked under the strain of the bodies shoving against it; Arthur finally got his keys straight and unlocked the thing before it broke.

 

He dropped his helmet and keys on the ground, reaching for Lancelot the second his hands were free.

 

Hot, hot skin. He couldn’t bear to be separated from it long enough for them to go upstairs, so he merely walked them backwards to the large couch and threw Lancelot against it, kneeling down to tear his shoes off, flinging them away into the darkness. The only light came from the cityscape that showed through the open curtain at the giant window.

 

“Off, off off off,” he requested like a mantra, pulling at Lancelot’s leather pants, which were gone in about two seconds, leaving the younger man sitting on Arthur’s couch in just a skin tight tshirt. Arthur kicked off his own boots, threw his suit jacket and tie to the ground, his pants joining them quickly.

 

He had an idea, and pushed the coffee table out of the way, then crooked a finger at Lance, who immediately slithered off the furniture and onto the floor in front of Arthur, his eyes dark, so dark that Arthur could barely see the color. They were all pupil, and only focused on him.

 

Arthur’s hand tore the other man’s shirt from him, while Lancelot did the same with Arthur’s expensive buttondown. He heard a few of the buttons go pinging away into the corners, but he could care less. 

 

“Gods, Arthur,” Lancelot whispered, his fingers going to Arthur’s hair instinctively, but Arthur caught them in his own. 

 

“No,” he answered, “this isn’t about that.” He didn't want gentle gestures or kindness. Not here, not now.

 

_Don’t stop, get it, get it_

 

He kept the other man’s wrists pinioned with one of his hands, and pushed so Lance went to his knees, Arthur making his way around behind him. The free hand grabbed at the skin below Lancelot’s navel, pinching roughly, and Arthur’s mouth went to the top of Lance’s spine, and decorated it the same way he had the man’s neck earlier.

 

Lance shuddered and groaned, crying Arthur’s name as the lips and teeth scraped him raw. Arthur let go of Lancelot’s hands finally, but only because he thought the other man might topple over if he didn’t let him have some balance. Lance’s hands hit the wood floor, and Arthur molded himself against Lance’s back, his painfully hard prick resting against the other man’s ass.

 

“Ohjesusarthuryesyesyescomeonstopteasingyoufuck," came as all one word out of Lancelot’s mouth, and Arthur’s body jumped at the words. He couldn’t wait much longer or he’d come onto the other man, and that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted inside, inside – surrounded, in control, taking, not giving.

 

_Watch the way I navigate_

 

He was so out of his normal behavior he almost didn’t realize he didn’t have any kind of oil – and despite his all encompasing anger, he didn’t want to physically hurt the other man.

 

“Fuck,” he gritted, managing to move away slightly, “need some-“

 

“Jacket pocket,” Lancelot gasped, hands reaching for Arthur as he backed away. Arthur hesitated, but fumbled through Lance’s jacket, which he had discarded as soon as he had walked through the door. Squinting at the tin, Arthur frowned. “This is lip balm.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s almond oil. Come on, Arthur…hurry up for the love of god.”

 

Whatever. Arthur broke a sizable chunk of the stuff out of the tin and slicked his hands – it smelled like one of his old friends’ bathroom, which threw him off momentarily – but he shoved the memory aside and used the now malleable and remarkably thick stuff to coat his prick with oily balm.

 

He returned hastily to Lancelot, and with no preamble or warning shoved two fingers inside. A small sound wobbled its way from the younger man’s lips, who pushed back onto Arthur’s fingers, forcing them deeper. Arthur twisted them slowly, searching for the right place, smiling ferally when Lancelot’s whole body jerked and the muscles in his back spasmed against Arthur’s free hand.

 

A few minutes of preparation, and Lance was practically sobbing for relief. Arthur decided to have pity on the other man (and himself), and removed his fingers, dragging them against the muscles again. He sidled up to Lancelot, and whispered into his ear, his voice rough.

 

“Kneel up, and spread your legs.”

 

No argument. Both men were hard as rocks, and Arthur could not spare one more second – so he did what he had been wanting to do for uncounted hours – and pushed his body inside Lancelot’s, slowly but not gently. He gritted teeth at the tightness; but Lance didn’t complain – he actually sighed quietly, his curly, sweaty head dropping backward to rest on Arthur’s shoulder.

 

It wouldn’t take long. Arthur’s hands circled Lance’s torso; one made a tight vise around the other man’s cock, the other cupping his balls.

 

“Christohmygodarthurinside….”

 

Arthur would have laughed if he hadn’t felt the same way – it was somewhat comical for Lance to be trying to thrust into his hand and push back against his cock. Didn’t quite work that way, but the younger man was certainly trying.

 

Arthur’s own hips were moving back and forth rapidly; his belly slapped against Lancelot’s backside, which would have normally had him blushing crimson. This time the sound made him lean forward and sink teeth into the meat of Lancelot’s shoulder.

 

“Ah! Fuck!”

 

Then: “Arthur, wait-“

 

As Arthur sucked on the small wound he had opened up on Lancelot’s shoulder, the other man came, hard. Arthur thrust faster at the sound of his name being called, screamed, sobbed. Lancelot’s hands ripped at his arms, for purchase or from passion Arthur didn’t know.

 

Then he came, and he knew nothing.

 

*

 

They lay together on the floor, their sweat mingling, dripping onto the polished wood surface. Arthur’s hand was still holding onto Lancelot’s body; his muscles were too tight to convince it to let go. His lips kissed languidly at the nape of Lancelot’s neck – which had some lovely new bruises that Arthur suddenly felt bad about. He licked at them gently, apologizing for the marks.

 

They were both quiet. Arthur had the feeling Lancelot was too worn out to say anything, and he was too full of shame at his actions to voice any feelings. After minutes of catching his breath, he slid gently out of the other man’s body and removed his hand, wincing at the feel, Lance making a small noise of protest.

 

Once separated from the other man’s flesh, Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Should he nuzzle up to the other man? The sex hadn’t been exactly the loving kind – he wasn’t sure where he should be.

 

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. What in the fuck did I just do?_

 

“Mmmmmc’mere.”

 

Thanking God that someone else made the decision for him, Arthur stood shakily, practically picking up Lancelot, and moved them to the more comfortable couch, where the younger man curled into him immediately.

 

“I…uh,” Arthur started, but shut his mouth when Lancelot’s fingers squeezed it closed. 

 

“Shut up,” the younger man repeated Arthur’s edict of earlier.

 

So he did.


End file.
